The Bad Guy
by nocnoclilo
Summary: Chivalry is dead; Dean Stansfield is very much alive. AU, dark.
1. Chapter 1

I can't handle being the good guy anymore.

Please, don't get me wrong. I don't want to give up being a superhero. I love helping people, I love being able to protect the city, I love everything about it. I don't even want to give up being a Ward, not really. The Wards are my friends. The heroes are my support system. Maybe I end up being a bit of a crutch for some of them more than is reciprocated, but that's not anyone's fault. Not everyone's got the same trauma, the same coping mechanisms.

And god knows I can't share my shit with anyone. Ever.

Carlos tells me that he'd have my back against a goddamn Endbringer. I believe him. Dennis promises that he'll keep clowning me no matter what happens between us. I believe him too. But that's between _us_. And this isn't an Endbringer.

It's just...I can't help but obsess over her. Her hair is always fluttering in the corner of my eye, silky blonde and beautiful, like she doesn't care who sees because she's so _unrestrained_ and free. When I look at her, face to face, I can't help but be overcome by how...vibrant she is. Like she's literally just _exuding_ happiness.

Her eyes are sharp. She's smart. Of course she is. Of course I couldn't help but be drawn to that like a fucking magnet. And when her lips curl in the faintest hint of a smile and her bright, beautiful eyes zero in on me…

That's when I practically shit my pants in fear. Every time. Because I'm so, so fucking scared that she _knows_. That she looks at me drooling over her like some perverted pedophile instead of the good guy that I'm supposed to be.

Fuck me. She's only twelve. She's barely out of _elementary_ school, and I'm halfway through Arcadia. I'm so fucked up.

I shouldn't be obsessing over a _preteen_ like this. I already have a girlfriend. She's gorgeous, funny, cute, loving, everything a red-blooded teenage guy like me could ask for. Could _dream_ of. Trust me, I know, I've seen the seedier Glory Girl fan-forums.

And if I happened to slip into the designated forums for Vista while I was at it, well...trust me, I don't need reminders of how fucked up I am for liking her. I remind myself of it every day.

Of course Victoria doesn't know about my stupid... _crush_ on Missy. She'd blow her fucking top, for one thing, and then she'd kick my ass and haul me to jail. Nah, whenever Missy - Vista, really, because secret identities - comes up in conversation, Victoria has nothing but good things to say about her.

"She's so cute!" Don't I know it.

"It's surprising how mature she can be for her age." No need to remind me about _that_ part.

"You too looked so happy in that cover photo together." Yeah, that's because my Tinkertech codpiece was hiding just how 'happy' I was.

It's all true, though. Missy has been on the team longer than any of us. She's the anchor for our team, young as she is. She's been through more shit than some of the adults that we work with and she deals with it. She's not just a random child that I have the hots for.

Really.

The day that I joined the Wards was the first day that I met her. Even back then, still new to my powers, clumsy and confused, angry at my father...I saw something different about her. I shook everyone's hand, of course, and we were all properly introduced. She smiled at me as Triumph introduced her, just the hint of joy was enough to brighten my sixth sense like a fucking spotlight.

I didn't get it then. I just thought that it was her age, her emotional state, her knack for brightening everyone's day just by being there.

But that tiny little smile had me hooked. I was a fucking junkie, I admit it. Everyone thought it was adorable how the new, likable Ward took her under his wing, treated her like she wanted to be treated. If only they fucking knew. That I was treating her like a peer to fool myself. That I was getting close to her because the only thing that kept me from losing my mind was the promise to myself that I'd at least have _this_ relationship.

Friendship. I meant to say friendship.

If Missy knew how much I've dreamed about being with her, she would go ballistic. She'd absolutely murder me. After all she's confided in me, the one Ward she can trust, who won't judge her for whatever she's feeling? Hell, I'd deserve it.

And if she knew what _else_ I've dreamed about with her...yeesh. I'm glad she's Manton-limited. If I'm honest with myself, I'd deserve that too. The kind of thoughts that I have, they're the kind of thoughts that get guys locked up in prison for life. Or get the shit kicked out of them with the guards watching. Or get raped and killed in the showers.

She's looking at me, grinning that infuriating, adorable little half-grin that she always gets when I'm lost in my thoughts. She thinks that it's because I'm so empathetic. That I can feel the emotions of everyone around me and I can't help but get caught up in them. That I'm just such a good guy.

That's because I told her that; because I lied. The only person I get caught up about is her.

"Sorry, what's up?" I ask with a nervous laugh. I place my arms on the desk, leaning my cheek into my propped up arm. Playing it cool, like I always do around her.

"Wow, can't spare a single second to think about your bestie?" she replies, grin turning into a wider smirk. I can't help but imagine leaning in and kissing her, wiping that smug look off her face. My lips are suddenly dry as a desert; I lick them, feeling uncomfortable. If only she knew. Her smug expression breaks after a couple moments. "I need your help with this stupid math homework. Chris said he was busy and _god_ knows I'm not going to ask Clockblocker…"

She rolls her eyes. I nod and take a look at the homework. Goddammit. She's still learning about negative numbers. Seriously, in seventh grade? What the hell is wrong with this country's education system? I choke on a muttered curse. Yeah. It's her _schooling_ that's the fucked up factor in this situation.

"Yeah, of course I can help you, Miss Missy," I say. My smile matches hers, but it's forced. With both our heads leaned over her math textbook, I can literally smell her. Her shampoo smells like vanilla; I know because I've used it to clean blood out of my hair. And her hair, once. We've been through so much together.

Missy scoffs at the dumb nickname. I probably made it up a week after we met each other. I still use it sometimes, partly for nostalgia and partly to remind myself. To remember that she's still a kid. That she can't handle one of her only role models turning out to be a pedo creep. That she, despite her battle scars and war stories, is _innocent_.

The tension breaks - if it was even there in the first place - and she starts going on about how much her math teacher sucks, how her classmates are so far ahead of her and one friend is going to rub it in her face. Middle school stuff.

I nod at all the right points. I lean back in my chair and laugh when she describes just how she told off a bully during lunch period. I walk her through the stupid, remedial math homework. But as she hunches over her paper to scribble out the answers, I can't help but notice how the hair that strays from her loose ponytail looks like strands of gold in the lamplight. How it makes her look beautiful.

I think that makes me the bad guy.


	2. Chapter 2

"What ho, Sir Gallant!"

I let out a woof of air as the heavy bag of chips smacks me in the stomach. In my prone position, my phone is knocked out of my hand and onto my bed. I sling the bag to the floor and cradle an arm around my midsection protectively, wary of another attack.

"I'm pretty sure knights don't even say that, Dennis," I inform the mischievous redhead, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice. It's not like I was doing anything important. I was just offering Missy some advice on a school project.

"That was a question, not a hail to you, Deanarino," he shoots back. A Cheshire-wide grin is pasted onto his face, quickly becoming thoughtful after I glance up at him.

"Right," I reply noncommittally. I return to my interrupted text conversation. I can't help but crack a grin as I imagine the expression on Missy's face as she's forced to deal with her classmates: There's probably a good deal of frustration and annoyance - condescension too, considering this is the girl who's faced down supervillains.

Dennis only seems to be encouraged by my brightening disposition, though. "I meant, who're you texting?"

His earlier comment finally sinks in. "Dude, really?"

I raise an eyebrow at him over the top of my phone. That shit-eating grin is still there. His aura is absolutely pulsing with childish glee. He's older than me, but the smug bastard could take a lesson or two from Missy in maturity...I try to shove that out of my mind. Don't really want to think about that topic right now. My eyes flicker back down to my screen. Great, now my train of thought has been totally derailed.

"Who ya talkin' to, _Deeean_?" Dennis asks as he flops down on the edge of my bed. He begins wriggling towards me across the covers, so I respond by turning off my phone and shoving it in my pocket. He pouts "Are you keeping secrets from me, darling?"

I let out a heaving sigh. "Dennis, why are you-"

"After all the years we've been together?"

"-even in here, seriously, I've got a lot of work-"

"The camaraderie, the brotherhood, the looove between us?"

"-and I still have to help Missy with her science project."

"Bros before-" Dennis raises a single finger to shush me before I can splutter in outrage. "-pros, my dear, gallant, lovely friend."

"Bros before pros?" I repeat, deadpan.

"That's right!" he cries in delight, throwing his arms up in the arm. "You've got to loosen up a bit, bro! You can't be gallant all the time. Or _Gallant_ all the time. Sometimes, you have to sit back, relax, forget your responsibilities-"

"Easy for a guy like you to say," I murmur.

"-and take some much needed 'me time,'" he finishes, looking triumphant and not at all put-out by the dig. Not that I was trying to hurt him. We know each other's' boundaries. "Some 'me time' with your best buddy, of course."

"Vista is my best friend," I say without much heart behind the words. Dennis is right. I _have_ been pretty overstressed recently. On top of the whole hero-ing gig and the school overburdening us with work, my dad has been pushing harder for me to start working for him. I think he wants to apprentice me into some position in his company, despite or maybe _in spite of_ my protests. Emphasis on the spite.

Plus, it's spring, and Missy's taken to wearing shorter and tighter clothes around the base. Do I sound like a creepy asshole if I say that it's been a struggle to tear my eyes away from her? So far I've only commented on her looking beautiful and mature. That feels like the safest bet.

But, yeah. Lot on the mind.

"Dean. Gallant. Sweetie. I can't believe you're doin' this to me, baby," Dennis is still pleading with me like the total drama queen that he is. He adopts a different tact. "You know what today is, right?"

"Um. Thursday?"

"It's our broniversary, Dean!" He makes jazz hands at me, like that's supposed to reduce the sheer ridiculousness of what he just said.

I roll my eyes at him. "That's definitely not a thing."

"It is-"

"I have a girlfriend. I know what an anniversary is. There is an anniversary for everything. I celebrated a separate anniversary for our first movie date. But there is definitely no such thing as a broniversary."

"Okay, first of all, salt in the wound," my single friend replies in a hurt voice. He mimes being stabbed through the heart with a stake because of course his metaphors don't line up. "And secondly, most importantly, _yes there is_ such a thing as a broniversary. And even if there wasn't - which there is - are you telling me that there is nothing that could convince your hard-"

"Dennis."

"-cold, Tin Man's heart to spend a few hours playing video games with a friend?"

"Dennis." I let my head loll over on the bed to stare him right in the eye. We're only a few inches away because it's _Dennis_ and that's just how this friendship gets. I blink, breaking eye contact for a brief moment. Yep, no unwanted feelings of passion and forbidden love make themselves known. Guess it's just Missy. Thank god. But also oh god why. "I will play games with you."

"Yay!"

"For an _hour_. Until Missy gets here, since I promised to help her with her science fair project."

Dennis waves a hand, then pats me on the cheek with it. I notice that, for some reason, he's wearing his full costume, sans mask. "That's all I ask of you, my sweet butter bean."

"...and I have comms duty tonight," I mutter, but he's already scampered out of my room. Leaving a bag of open, unclipped potato chips to spill out over my floor. Lovely.

 **Dean** : Got to go help Dennis blow up an alien ship. You've got this!

 **Missy** : LOL, good luck! Sea you soon ^_^

 _Missy is typing…_

 **Missy** : Ugh, see*

I chuckle at that. Only Missy would get annoyed at a cute little typo and feel the need to correct it. Then I frown. Goddammit, when did I start thinking of her typos as "cute?"

They're just typos, I remind myself unnecessarily. Stop being a sappy bitch. And stop being a pedo, if you can manage that.

I step over the spilled chips on the floor as I follow Dennis' lead into the rec room.

VVV

The screen flashes with searing bright light as Dennis blasts my on-screen avatar into a plume of colorful smoke and flames. I drop the buzzing game controller, throwing up my hands in surrender.

"Doth thou yield, Sir Gallant?" Dennis booms. He hops onto the couch and rests a socked foot on my shoulder to look down on me. His good-natured aura flashes in time with his restless bounces. "You should know that I've got plenty more where that came from!"

"I yield, you knave, I yield," I shout back at him, laughing. I shove at his ankle, but dislodging his foot from atop me only causes his whole body to topple across my chest. "Oof, _fuck_." The words blur together as he knocks the wind out of me for the second time today.

Dennis pops his head up from where it landed face-first on the couch cushion. "Watch your language, there, Silvertongue. Imagine, horror of horrors, if you had cussed in front of a lady."

I glance past his sprawled figure. Shadow Stalker - dressed in civilian clothes, but still Shadow Stalker to us - is making a sandwich for herself in the kitchen area. Dennis follows my gaze. Somehow noticing the attention, she looks up at us and gives us a death glare.

"Nah, you're safe," Dennis says.

It takes me a moment to process his statement, but when I finally do, I whack him in the shoulder. "Don't be a dick."

"Yeah. You're right. This is a happy occasion." Dennis turns away from our teammate, but I noticed his gaze linger. I decide not to comment on that. I, of _all_ fucking people, can't fault him a glance or two.

"Well, I'm vanquished," I inform him, patting my stomach. I squeeze out from beneath Dennis' weight to stand up and stretch. "I think Sophia's got the right idea."

"But Deeean," my friend whines. He crawls after me, a picture of misery. "It's our broniversary!"

I roll my eyes, casting a dramatic glance toward heaven, more for Dennis' sake than my own. "We can do stuff besides video games on our 'broniversary.' Let's be honest, we both know that you'll win anything we play."

Dennis perks up at the compliment. "You're right! I am the reigning champ in pretty much everything, aren't I? Basketball, video games, training..."

I throw a pillow at him to curtail his boasting. "Oh, really? Give me half the time that you spend on that game to practice, and I'll beat your high score."

"You're on, sir!"

I turn away to grab myself a snack from the kitchen, but he nudges me with his toe. I turn back. "Yes, Dennis?"

"So, uh, speaking of scoring, it's been a while since we had a real 'guy talk,' huh?" Dennis grins at his play on words, but his tone of voice betrays a more serious intent. His aura has taken on a more serious tone to match.

"I guess we've both been pretty busy," I reply carefully.

Dennis' smile twists at the edges. His emotional aura responds in kind.

"But I'm always here for you, man," I continue. I sit back down on the foot of the couch. "What's up with you?"

That brightens him up again. He hops up from the couch, only to flop back in a more comfortable position. "I'm so glad you asked, Dean. I'm doing fantastic. Never better, actually, despite-"

He breaks off.

"Despite what?" I press, curious.

"Sorry, I was trying to nail the dramatic pause," Dean says. He clears his throat. "But, you know, the usual. Girl trouble, friend trouble, that sort of shit."

I do know, at least to some degree. Being a Ward sucks, sometimes. It means spending less time with people you care about, it means keeping a lot of secrets, and it means the out-of-costume relationships you do manage to kindle can be...tenuous. It's a hard place to be in when you're already trying to get through high school.

I don't struggle with that stuff as much as Dennis. Being, well, being my father's son, I have no shortage of peers who want to spend time with me. Plus, I've gotten pretty good at keeping secrets and maintaining delicately balanced relationships. The normal teen drama stuff comes a lot easier after a couple years on a team with Missy.

Dennis is different. He's not rich like me, or tall, dark, and handsome like Carlos. He doesn't get along with the geeky kids like Chris, or whatever fucked up clique Shadow Stalker happens to be in at Winslow. Apart from hanging out with the rest of us Wards, I think he mostly just _drifts_ at school.

I can't help but respect him. He does a good enough job of hanging on to friendships with his sense of humor and generally likable personality. He does a better job than me. I guess he just doesn't do well enough to make up for being in the Wards.

"Anything I can help out with?" I ask, even though I already know the answer. Dennis doesn't need help, not from someone like me. Maybe I could invite him to hang out with some of my friends, to chat up with some of the prettier girls in Arcadia, but it would only be a stopgap. A temporary measure. He wouldn't really become friends with them, just like they never really become friends with me.

He opens his mouth to reply, but then stops. I roll my eyes, waiting for the inevitable, dramatic refusal. But Dennis' response isn't forthcoming.

"Maybe," he admits after a few seconds. That surprises me. He seems to struggle for words, and I let him, content to wait in the brief silence.

I avert my eyes, not willing to pry into his emotional state right now. I did that once before, back when we were just becoming friends. It was...not a great situation. I was new to my powers and he was a lot more volatile back then, and it didn't make for a good combination.

We got better, of course. Me at figuring out how to handle my sixth sense, him at managing his anger, and both of us at understanding each other. Sometimes it just takes patience.

Dennis finally speaks. "There's a girl. Or, uh, there was."

I wince. Hero or not, I know from experience that hanging onto a girl can be tough. My reaction is enough to urge Dennis on.

"She was out of my league, but we had some stuff in common. Like, really in common. Not just made-up Wards bullshit." A pause. "So we started to get along, and that was cool."

" _But_ ," I intone. It's not mockery, and I'm glad Dennis picks up on it. I see him nod out of the corner of my eye. With the coast clear, in an abstract emotional sense, I turn back to face him head-on.

" _But_ , I fucked up. Big time. I said some dumb stuff and it pissed her off. Or maybe just made her sad, I'm not sure." He sighs. "Either way, way to fucking go, Dennis."

"I'm sorry, man," I tell him. I am. In retrospect, I feel like kind of a dick for avoiding him recently. Sure, I've been busy, wrapped up in my own problems, but that feels like a feeble excuse. _Heart of gold_ , the Dennis in my head snickers. I ignore it and continue, "it sounds like you regret it."

"I do," Dennis replies seriously. His aura darkens. "But...fuck. It was my bad. Live and learn, you know? She was too good for me anyway."

"Bullshit," I snap. He cocks an eyebrow at that. I jab a finger in his direction. "You're a goddamn superhero, Dennis. You deserve a second chance. Hell, you deserve the _best_. I don't care what you told yourself about how you don't deserve this girl because you're _wrong_. You're one of the best guys I know. And unless she's insane, she'll recognize that too."

The emotional aura around Dennis roils, changing from color to color in the span of a second. I can't keep up with it, so I don't even try. I just look my friend in the eyes, dead serious.

Dennis finally cracks a grin. "Thanks, Dean. You're good at this therapy shit, you know that?"

I return the smile. "I'm not exactly a professional. You know _that_ , right?"

"Close enough."

"Now, speaking of second chances..." I start to speak, gesturing toward the video game controller. "How about you give me ten more minutes to kick your ass?"

"Oh, baby, you will _regret_ saying that," Dennis crows gleefully. He darts over to the TV to turn it on again.

I see Missy enter the opposite side of the room. It's probably just the hallway lights playing tricks on my eyes, but it's almost like she _glows_ as she walks in. She sees me looking at her and her face breaks into a beaming smile. She waves. I wave back.

She's wearing jean shorts and a cute crop top, trophies from one of her shopping sprees with Victoria. I can tell from the way that she wears them that her clothes were chosen with care. Is she trying to impress someone at school? No, she frequently rants about how annoying her classmates are. Someone in the Wards, then? I know it's not me, but I haven't really paid attention to how she responds to the other guys on the team. Or girls.

Or maybe she's just trying to look more adult. My eyes flicker up and down her petite figure. It does help.

Mentally, I slap myself across the face. _Play it cool._ It still takes a concerted effort to tear my eyes away from her.

"Ready to lose?" I ask Dennis, turning my attention back to him. He just smirks up at me, tossing a controller my way.

"So, enough about me," my friend says as he bounces back into his spot on the couch. "How's your love-life, Deanarino?"

I hear Missy pad up behind me in socked feet, having crossed the rec room in a couple steps. She leans on the back of the couch to watch us play, digging her chin into my shoulder from behind. I can feel a flush of warmth spreading out from where she's touching me.

"Never better," I reply, sending a forced grin in his direction.


End file.
